the flesh, but of the spirit. Food does not fail 

 in the farm-yard ; yet the tame Canada geese, 

 when the nights grow crisp and the wild flocks 

 go honking over, will scream and run and flap 

 their crippled wings with a wild longing to fly 

 away— high and far and long into the air. 



It is little that most of us know of the wild 

 geese besides this passing. But who has not seen 

 the wonderful wedge, like a harrow moving 

 across the sky, or the long file, like a strange 

 many-oared shell, swimming the clouds'? Who 

 has not heard the thrilling trumpet-call out 

 of the star-depths of the silent autumn night? 

 Even in the heart of a vast city I have awakened 

 at the cloud-echoed cry, far off, weird, and 

 haunting. 



High and swift as they move, the passage still 

 is a long and dangerous one. 



Vainly the fowler's eye 

 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 

 As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 



Thy figure floats along. 



True ; but that height cannot always be sus- 

 tained. The bird is flesh : such speed, though 

 [278] 



